


Running Out of Time (But I Run to You)

by a_dusky_gold



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Awesome Charlie Bradbury, Castiel & Charlie Bradbury Friendship, Charlie Bradbury & Dean Winchester Friendship, Criminal Dean Winchester, Doctor Castiel, Government Agencies, Government Experimentation, Internalized Homophobia, Internalized Sexism, M/M, POV Third Person Limited, Period Typical Attitudes, Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-Typical Sexism, Post-World War I, Slight Trigger Warning for Conversion Therapy, World Wars, conversion camps
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-22
Updated: 2018-06-22
Packaged: 2019-05-26 18:20:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 20,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15006647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_dusky_gold/pseuds/a_dusky_gold
Summary: The last thing Dr. Castiel Novak expects is to be housing a criminal, wanted for murder by the very government program he helped set up. But when Dean Winchester turns up on his doorstep, that's exactly what he finds himself doing.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> To my wonderful [artist](https://yayeeh1344.tumblr.com/) who has been absolutely patient and amazing and has made such beautiful pieces! Go show her love, y'all! I'm so glad to have claimed this piece, it's been an amazing ride! 
> 
> As always, thanks to my beta, Baya-the-dragon, without who's ass-kicking I wouldn't have finished this. 
> 
> So, quick note, this is supposed to be set after World War I, but I make almost no references to any specific war except loose, nebulous mentions, so the setting is a bit vague. Please don't come after me for historical accuracy, I make no promises xD 
> 
> Warnings - Mentions of Conversion Camps, Conversion Therapy, Internalized Homophobia. Castiel's internal dialogue is quite self-deprecatory and homophobic initially, so please be careful while reading!

****

**Chapter 1**

"Hey doc."

Castiel looks up, momentarily distracted from the arm he's bandaging.

"Hello Dean," he hums in response, ignoring the way the man towers over the table.

"Wait your turn, Winchester," his patient grins.

"Maybe if you stopped hoggin' the good doctor, Henrikson," Dean retorts. "All you need's a stupid vaccination, let the rest of us have a go." He points to his own muscled bicep, offering Castiel a wink, and the doctor looks away, cheeks flushing. "After all, we gotta get a _full_ physical, don't we?"

Castiel's heart jumps to his throat; he's never quite sure if Dean's flirting is real or not. He casts a wary look at Officer Henrikson, stomach tightening at the thought that his... _condition_... might be visible on his face.

Apparently it doesn't, because Officer Henrikson only chortles and rolls his eyes.

"Speak for yourself," he answers. "I'm just here to get my annual check-up and shots."

Castiel frowns, tightening the final folds of the bandage and looking up at him. "You're not taking part in The Program?" he asks.

Officer Henrikson shrugs. "Already have a job. Don't think the good folks would be happy about me takin' another." He looks pointedly around the field and Castiel realizes that most of the participants who have signed up are white men.

Dean's expression darkens and he doesn't answer.

"I see," Castiel says.

The three of them are silent as Castiel quickly finishes up the bandage and offers the man a smile.

"You might feel a bit of swelling," he points to the localized site of injection, "Maybe a slight fever. Rest and fluids. Don't overexert yourself."

"Thanks doc." Henrikson gets to his feet, quickly shaking hands with Castiel. Dean grins and clasps hands with him, ignoring the dirty looks he receives from a number of the crowd around him, before Henrikson stalks away.

"Guess it's my turn, eh doc?"

Dean drops into the chair Officer Henrikson vacated, a charming grin on his face. Castiel swallows, ignoring the way his belly swoops in nervousness - Dean's beautiful, but that kind of thinking is going to get him arrested if he isn't careful.

"Hello Dean," he repeats, glancing over at the papers Dean pushes forward to him. "You're taking part in The Program?"

"I sure am." Castiel hasn't been in town or known Dean very long, but he sees the strain in Dean's smile.

"And you'll need a full physical?"

"Indeedy," Dean confirms, winking. Close up, Castiel can see that the usual twinkle in his gaze has dulled beneath dark circles and bags. He's tired, he realizes with a jolt.

"Come closer, please," he directs, inclining his head.

"Careful, doc, or I might think you're flirtin' with me."

Castiel looks up at him sharply, eyes narrowing. "I need to check your vitals," he barks. "Take a measure of your heartbeat and blood pressure, so if you would please," he gestures to the space between them, "I do not have all day."

"Well, golly, doc, you don't gotta jump down my throat," Dean mutters, leaning in.

Silence falls between them as Castiel bites his lip in an attempt to stave off the apology that rises to his throat. _Sorry,_ he wants to say, as he presses the stethoscope to Dean's chest. _Sorry,_ he wants to whisper, as the lub-dub-thud-thud of Dean's heart echoes in his ears.

But sorry for what?

For finding Dean beautiful? For wanting to let his fingertips linger over the muscled roughness of Dean's skin? For wanting to press their lips together and taste every secret off of Dean's tongue? For wanting to sleep beside a hard, muscled form of a man instead of the soft skin and long legs of woman?

Castiel may have accepted that he's a homosexual, but he that doesn't mean he can parade it around, no matter how beautiful Dean Winchester is, no matter that Dean's the first man who's ever openly flirted with him.

Which is why he ignores the way his cheeks flush as Dean passes his hand over Castiel's in an almost teasing manner.

"So what's the verdict, doc?" he asks.

"Castiel," he says abruptly. "My name is Castiel."

"I know," Dean grins.

"So you're going into The Program," Castiel hums, holding his wrist up to check his pulse. A distant part of his mind notes the calluses on Dean's hands, wonders what they'd feel like if he entwined their fingers together, but he pushes that part away with a tight swallow of his throat.

"Like most of the men here. Need the money."

Castiel pauses, raising an eyebrow. "Why?"

"For my brother," Dean mutters. There's a look of pure pride on his face and Castiel's heart races at the sight. "Kid's goin' to college, wants to be a lawyer. I gotta make sure he can afford it."

Castiel wants to ask him for more - _why are you the one in charge of your brother? Where are your parents? What about the rest of your family? -_ but the look on Dean's face is familiar, uninviting, not to mention those questions lead down a dangerous path for both of them.

"He's lucky to have you," Castiel says instead. "You're a good man, Dean."

"Thanks...  Cas."

Castiel smiles, holding his gaze for a minute longer than appropriate, before breaking the stare and clearing his throat.

"So, as requested," he says in as professional a tone as he can currently muster, "We will do a full physical check-up. The Program wants only those who are at the pinnacle of their physical youth."

"Why do you sound like you're quotin' the brochure?" Dean grins.

"Because I am." Castiel can't help the snort that escapes him. "I may have been involved with all this,” he waves his hand around in an all-encompassing gesture, “from the very beginning, but it does not mean I cannot make fun of it as well.”

"Even if the dude in charge of this program is your brother?"

Castiel shrugs. "I will be the first to admit that Lucifer has some... problematic worldviews. He and I have crossed words many times."

Understatement of the year, but Dean doesn't need to know how close Lucifer had come to outright disowning Castiel and having him arrested for his... condition. He's on thin ice right now, avoiding his brother and the rest of their family with the excuse of focusing on his medical career, but the moment they find out he hasn't been cured of his affliction...

Which is why he really shouldn't be enjoying the way Dean's lips curl up in a smile or the way the man winks at him.

"A rebel, eh?"

"Not quite," Castiel tells him. "I just... chose my own path."

"Yeah? And where'd you think that path heads?"

_Nowhere good,_ he wants to say. _But if it means I can go down with you..._ "You know The Program doesn't guarantee an offer of better physical health? That it's all experimental drug testing and body conditioning to try and give our soldiers an advantage over other countries if we ever go to War again?"

"I know, doc. I read the pamphlet too."

Castiel heaves out a long sigh. "Okay, then," he says, pulling back and dropping his stethoscope. "Let's get started."

And if he allows his fingers to brush across Dean's skin a few more times than is strictly appropriate, well, then, Dean doesn't say anything either.

*-*-*

The going-away gala is loud and noisy.

Castiel sighs as he sips on the glass of wine he’s been nursing for the past hour or so. He’s tired and the space between his eyes his throbbing from all the banging music; it’s not everyday that his family throws a party, but when they do, they do have to catch the world’s attention.

Swallowing the last of the wine, he rolls his eyes and moves to get himself another glass, when one of the many ladies twirling around on the floor stop him.

“Dr. Castiel!” she simpers, throwing a strand of long, red hair over her shoulder. She’s tall and bony and fair, and it takes him a moment to recall her name - Ms. Josie, he thinks.

“Hello,” he murmurs reluctantly. It wouldn’t do for a member of the Novak family to not socialize.

“How about a dance, sir?” she raises one perfect crimson eyebrow.

Castiel stiffens. “I’m afraid I’m not quite up to it, Miss Abbadon,” he bows low, making sure to keep the courteous smile on his face. “I’ve been at work all day, I’m a bit tired.”

“Surely one dance with a woman - with _me_ \- would cure all that exhaustion.”

“Certainly,” he says, gesturing awkwardly with the empty wine glass in his hand. “But I’m afraid I cannot do you the disservice of my half-attention today… so forgive me.”

Before she can protest any further, Castiel makes his exit, wincing at his own discomfort. He is not good in public, not used to the silver-tongued hypocrisy that is required of him at these galas.

Dropping off the wine glass at the table, he considers getting another, but the sight of yet another young woman heading his way convinces him to leave. She’s a younger girl, golden-haired with a dimpling smile, but her clothes are not as fine as Josie’s and her demeanor seems much more tense, as though she’s uncertain of herself.

Moving to the side, Castiel breathes in deeply, turning around to leave, when the sound of a warm, rough laugh stops him.

“There, Jo. I’ll dance with ya.”

He whirls around to see Dean - dressed in simple brown pants and a white button-up and suspenders - twirling the blonde girl around. The tense set of her shoulders vanish and she laughs, leaning into him, and Castiel’s heart leaps into his throat.

By the Lord, Dean is _beautiful_.

“Doctor Castiel!”

Castiel peers around to see Sam Winchester’s big, hulking form stride towards him. From the corner of his eyes, he sees Dean startle, but he ignores him.

“Hello, Sam,” he hums. “What can I do for you?”

Sam comes to a stop and offers him a smile. “I just wanted to thank you for inviting us all here.” He looks up, eyes running over the big crowd and the loud party, and there’s a strange, almost hungry expression on his face. “It’s… wonderful.”

“This was all my brother’s idea, but you’re welcome.”

They’re both quiet for a moment, observing, and soft voices float across to them from the dance floor.

“Thanks, Dean,” Jo is saying. “This is a bigger party than I was expecting.”

“Certainly is, ain’t it?” Dean hums. He looks up, and though Castiel knows the younger man couldn't possibly know where he would be, he swears that Dean’s eyes snap to his without any hesitation whatsoever. “Lotsa people here… these Novaks don’t hold back at a party.”

“Yeah, but they’re also kinda assholes,”  Jo sighs. “I mean…”

“Jo,” Dean cuts her off. “Not here.”

But Castiel knows she isn’t wrong; all around, the divide is clearly visible. Despite the fact that this party is meant for the volunteers going away to the camp, not many of the Novaks’ higher class guests are actually interacting with any of them. The volunteers - most of them soldiers and workers from town - are holding their own party in the corners, dancing and laughing with one another, while his family are awkwardly attempting to mingle with the other higher class families in the centre.

It makes Castiel want to throw up. It was one of the main reasons why he left the estate before.

“It’s not your fault, doctor.”

Castiel almost jumps at Sam’s quiet voice next to him; he’d forgotten that the young man was standing with him for a moment. Confused, he looks up at him and shrugs.

“I’m sorry?”

“You… uh…” Sam’s expression is a bit embarrassed, but he forges on, “You had a guilty expression on your face, I just…” he rubs the back of his neck and Castiel cannot help but smile.

“They are my family, Sam.” He turns back to the dance floor.

“But family don’t end in blood,” Sam quips. “I hope you don’t mind my saying so, doctor, but you look just as out of place here as we do.”

Castiel’s smile this time is humorless. “I feel much the same,” he agrees. They both fall silent again, watching the floor as Dean spins a laughing Jo out and pulls her back in in a flourish, hugging her close to him so that they were pressed together.

The sudden flash of jealousy burns so bitter on his tongue, Castiel can hardly taste the wine through it, admitting to himself that yes, he wants that, _he_ wants to be in Dean’s arms, wants to feel Dean’s hard body pressed against his own -

“You’re not alone, Castiel,” Sam says quietly. He gestures his head towards Dean and Jo and smiles softly. “You’ve got friends… if you want to be ours.”

Yes, Castiel wants to say. By the Lord, _yes_. There’s a warmth in these people that Lucifer never extended Castiel, a shared sense of camaraderie and love and affection that he’s never felt anywhere else before.

Dean’s loud chuckle floats over to them.

And reality washes over him like a bucket of cold water.

He offers Sam a blank smile and nods his head. “Thank you, Sam,” he says clearly. “I appreciate it. If you will excuse me…”

It’s as close to a rejection as he can give without actually saying the words. Sam, bless his young heart, seems to understand. His expression falls and he sighs, running a hand through his hair, and nods.

“See you around, doctor,” he mutters.

And Castiel flees from that knowing expression, from the loud laughter ringing across the dance floor, from the desire beating in his veins to _want, want, want Dean -_

He finds himself heading straight for the gardens. Back when he was a child, this was his sacred space. Every time Lucifer wanted to remind him of how wrong he was, he’d run here, to the centre of this place, hidden by the big oak tree, where no one would see him.

“Going somewhere, doc?”

Well, no one, it would seem, except Dean Winchester.

“Just wanted some fresh air,” Castiel mutters. He knows his voice is sulky, but he wanted _away_ from the party - and Dean - and all the noise.

“Don’t blame ya,” Dean says. “It’s loud in there. And stuffy.”

Castiel hums in agreement, turning his back deliberately to Dean, and slides down on to the stone bench behind the tree. _Please leave,_ he prays quietly, but Dean doesn’t take the hint, lingering behind him.

The night is cool and refreshing and he breathes it in deeply, feeling the crispness of late summer fill his lungs. Dean sits beside him, not saying a word, and Castiel feels the back of his neck prickle in tension.

“Why are you out here, Mr. Winchester?” he snaps finally.

Dean looks at him. “Dean,” he insists, “And I thought… I wanted to keep you company.”

The raw honesty in his voice takes Castiel aback.

“You uh…” he clears his throat, “you looked tired. Thought you could use an ear.”

He smiles, his expression shy and sweet, and it sets Castiel’s heart alight. By the Lord, this… this is a _bad_ idea. But the thought that Dean saw him, took note of his exhaustion and decided to come out here, _for_ him… it’s both exhilarating and terrifying and Castiel doesn’t know what to do with it.

“So what’d ya say, doc?” Dean grins, “Wanna dance out here?”

“I left to get away from the party, Dean,” Castiel sighs. “Not to have my own private one out here.”

“Not a fan of dancing then?”

He shrugs. “I like it well enough. When I have a good partner, I suppose. Just not those,” he nods towards the gala, and Dean snorts.

“You’re tellin’ me,” he agrees and then pauses. “So… I’m a good partner. I think. Dance?”

Castiel blinks. “We’re both men, Dean.”

It’s his turn to shrug. “Nothin’ says we can’t dance,” he answers. “If I be the girl, would you dance with me?”

“Why are you so insistent on this?”

“Because you work too damned hard,” Dean murmurs. “And I know you don’t like crowds or any of those idiots in there, but you deserve to have a good time too… that’s what this whole gala was supposed to be.”

“Besides,” he gets up and winks, holding out a hand, “It’s about what the volunteers want tonight, ain’t it? And _I_ wanna dance with _you_ , doc.”

Castiel stares at the proffered hand for a long moment before grabbing it on a whim. Dean’s right - it’s one night, meant to be fun and enjoyable. It’s not like he is making a commitment to him, not like he and Dean are… he and Dean. They’re just two men, sharing a dance, in a moment of united solidarity against the crowd inside.

“Alright,” he whispers. “One dance.”

Dean grins and pulls him to his feet. Despite his assertion that he would ‘be the girl’, Castiel ends up with his hands on Dean’s shoulder, the taller man’s arm banding about his waist. They’re pressed closer together than is acceptable for two men and Castiel’s heart is racing, but for a moment - for one, glorious, heated moment - he allows himself to breathe and just _be_.

“Damn doc,” Dean remarks, as he twirls him, “you’re good at this.”

“Had to learn early,” Castiel grunts, “My mother was quite insistent that I be trained in all the fine arts, despite my repeated protests.”

Dean hums. “Doesn’t explain why you know all the lady bits too,” he teases.

Castiel can feel his lips curve despite himself. “A… friend taught me,” he confesses, “Insisted that there’s no such thing as a _lady_ dance. Dance is dance.”

“Huh.” There’s a strange tinge to Dean’s tone and Castiel spins away from him at that exact moment, so he can’t see the younger man’s expression. When he spins back in, Dean’s gone quiet, his grip tight in a way it wasn’t before.

For some reason, Castiel hastens to explain. “She, uh…” he says quietly. “She’s like a sister to me… she was my only friend for a long while.”

“Only friend, eh?”

Castiel nods. “I was a lonely child,” he finds himself whispering.

Dean pauses, stopping to twirl Castiel to face him. They’re both more swaying than dancing now, staring at one another, as though frozen, even as Dean cups his cheek gently. A rough thumb swipes across Castiel’s cheek, rubbing back and forth and he doesn’t dare to breathe, terrified this moment will vanish.

“You’re no longer alone, Cas,” Dean whispers, repeating his brother’s words from before. “And you got more than one friend now.”

Warm arms wrap themselves around Castiel. They’re just as strong and rough as he pictured them to, banding about his waist in a motion that’s far too intimate for the casual acquaintances - friends? - they are meant to be. He raises shaky hands to press against Dean’s back and feels his smile against his throat and his heart is thudding, a lub-dub-thud that thunders in his ears and Dean’s smell fills his nostrils and this is… this…

A shy smile as they pull apart and Dean bounds away, heading back to the party.

Castiel can only watch him go, his heart _still_ throbbing in his chest, desire swooping low in his belly, because Dean Winchester is _everything_ he was terrified he would be.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Castiel doesn't hear anything of Dean Winchester for another three weeks. He spends his days at the clinic, doing as much as he can to help those who come to him, and maintains a strict routine - wake up, breakfast, work, come home, have dinner and then go to bed. He doesn't let himself think, doesn't let himself linger on what could have been, on what he thinks he'd seen on Dean's face that night on the dance floor.

He can't.

So he throws himself into work. When he's not treating patients, he's working on details for The Program. As one of the doctors on call, he's been given a bunch of the data observed to collate and analyze. He's careful to avoid Dean's profile when he's organizing Lucifer's notes on the possible experiments and volunteers, quietly moving Dean's file into the Balthazar's pile of documents instead.

He wants no reminder of that night at the gala, nor of the elder Winchester brother himself - which is why he avoids Sam as well, despite the younger man's eager offer of friendship that night.

To his credit, he's done a pretty good job of pretending Dean doesn't exist - that is, until now.

The corners of the newspaper flutter innocuous even as the headline glares back at him, big and bold and black in its intensity. Castiel stares back, reading the same sentence over and over again, unable to quite believe what he sees in front of him.

**_VOLUNTEER KILLS ONE OF THE PROGRAM'S COORDINATORS - IS ON THE RUN_ **

_Program Coordinator, Alistair Michaels, was murdered last night by one of the many volunteers, Dean Winchester, who escaped The Program's quarters soon after the incident. Eyewitnesses suggest that Michaels was stabbed repeatedly in the stomach with a knife in front of a dozen other volunteers, all of whom Winchester dodged as they attempted to stop him and save Michaels. He is currently on the run, armed, and dangerous. If spotted, please contact your local policeman right away._

Below the headline, Dean's expression is sour at anyone looking at him. His eyes - those beautiful green eyes that had drawn Castiel in and made him forget that they'd been on a public dance floor - are wide and cold and there's a blankness to them that he finds utterly terrifying.

"No," Castiel finds himself murmuring, his throat tight from the early morning. "No."

Castiel startles at the loud, booming knock that echoes through his empty house. The newspaper flutters out of his grasp and he picks it up with shaky hands as he makes his way to the door.

"Sam."

He's almost startled to see the younger Winchester at his doorstep, his tall form towering over Castiel, his eyes narrowing in on the newspaper the doctor is still clutching.

"He didn't do it," Sam states. There's a look of helpless defiance about him, his expression heartbreaking, and Castiel looks back down at the newspaper and sighs. He steps aside, gesturing Sam in, and turns back to his living room, not checking to see if he's followed.

"He didn't do it, Cas."

Sam's voice sounds a bit more hesitant this time, young and small and confused. And he _is_ young - eighteen years old and about to enter university, but he's still so young. Castiel remembers being that young and being terrified of himself; he still is, to a large extent, even if he's learned to live with that part of himself. He wants to reassure Sam, tell him his brother is innocent, because it seems impossible that _Dean_ could be a killer.

"We don't know what happened, Sam," he says instead. "We have no idea-"

"Why weren't you told?" Sam snaps.

Castiel pauses. As one of the doctors on call for The Program, he should have been involved. And even if he wasn’t, this whole thing was _his_ idea. Lucifer is his brother; he's been helping him set up this entire camp since the moment of its conception. He should have been told - but he wasn't.

What does that mean?

If Lucifer has not told him the truth... that can mean only one thing. His brother doesn't trust him.

And Castiel is sure he knows where that mistrust stems from, not that he can tell Sam that.

Sam misinterprets his silence entirely. "Did- did you _know_?" he asks in a tremulous voice, sucking in a sharp breath. "Did you know Cas and didn't tell me? You're supposed to be our friend!"

"Of course not," Castiel retorts. "If I had known, Sam, do you truly believe I would not have told you?"

Silence falls, and they both stare at one another, Sam's glare a quiet accusation that Castiel can't help but flinch at. He didn't know, of course he didn't know, but a part of him wonders - would he really have chosen the Winchesters over his own brother?

His brother who, apparently, hates Castiel's homosexuality enough to keep him out of everything that matters to him.

Sighing heavily, Castiel sets the newspaper down and turns to Sam, feeling a bone-deep exhaustion he hasn't felt since his days as an Army Medic.

"Sam," he says slowly. "I truly did not know. Believe me. Dean is..." he pauses, "Dean is my friend. You are my friend. I am on your side."

Even as he says it, he's almost surprised to find that it is the truth. His brothers and sisters have turned their backs on him, but the hardy town folk - Sam and Dean and Officer Henrikson and everyone else - have accepted him.

Sam deflates. "I don't... he didn't do this, doc." His voice is miserable. "And now he's on the run, and I don't... I dunno what to do." He sinks into the chair at the table, and buries his face in his hands. "I _told_ him. I told him not to volunteer and now he's gone."

"He was doing it for you," Castiel murmurs. "Because he cares about you."

There's a strangled sob before Sam responds. "And who's gonna care about _him_? He should be worrying about finding a woman and settling down, not whether he can send me to school or not."

A chill runs down Castiel's spine at the thought of Dean as a husband, with a beautiful girl on his arm. She'd cook and clean and make their house a home and Sam would be welcome in that home - Castiel wouldn't.

He banishes the image. "He's your brother," he says out loud.

Sam garbles another sob and there's silence between them for a long, tense moment, before he raises his head. Hazel eyes meet Castiel's and he can see a reflection of his own worry, his own misery mirrored back at him.

"He didn't do it, Cas," Sam says quietly.

And looking into those innocent eyes, Castiel knows he doesn't disagree.

"Why are you here, Sam?"

Sam shrugs. "I wanted... your brother is the head of The Program. I was hoping..."

He trails off but Castiel can fill in the blanks. The corner of his lips curve into a sardonic smile and he shakes his head.

"Not all brothers are like Dean."

Sam winces at that, looking away.

"Yeah," he mutters. "They aren't."

*-*-*

The rest of the day passes almost uneventfully. Sam leaves, refusing Castiel's offer of breakfast, and as fond as Castiel is of the boy, he doesn't protest. Instead, he packs up and makes his way to the clinic, mind preoccupied with why Lucifer has neglected to tell him what happened at the camp.

Granted, he's not the only doctor on call that The Program has. But even if Lucifer had called for one of the other doctors - Balthazar, or Samandriel, maybe - he's Lucifer's brother. He was in the Army in the First War, and he's the one who championed this project from the beginning because he's seen firsthand the horrors their soldiers suffered on the battlefront. It wouldn't have taken his brother more than a couple of minutes to write a letter and send over a messenger; they live in the same town, albeit in different neighborhoods.

_It's ironic, brother, that you can cure others of their afflictions but you cannot cure your own. The Devil is in you._

If only he isn't... his condition...

_"It's not a condition, Cas. It's not a choice. And it's not wrong."_

Charlie's voice echoes in his head, the memory of her smile chasing away the age-old whispers of Lucifer and the rest of his family. He's not broken, he's not wrong. Charlie helped him see that, but on days like this, it's just harder to let himself believe that.

Fortunately, he has a line of patients who keep him distracted for most of the day. He sets broken bones, slathers ointment on bruises, soothes anxious parents about their children's colic and cold and stitches broken skin together. It's exhilarating work, work that makes him forget the outside world for a while and reminds him that he's making a difference. By the time he leaves, he's in a much better mood, even if there's a corner of his mind that won't stop replaying Lucifer's expression the first time he found out about Castiel's... affliction.

_Not a choice,_ he reminds himself, trying to replace that image with Charlie's smiling face. _No Devil. Not wrong._

He mutters it under his breath as he opens the door to his house, tiredly reaching out for a light -

\- when a hand grabs him and yanks him inside, covering his mouth to muffle his loud yell of shock. A solid, male form presses against his back and a low growl echoes in his ears, almost familiar.

Castiel flails for exactly a minute, hands grappling for purchase and clawing at the man's forearms over his face, before his army training kicks in. He stomps on the intruder's foot and uses the moment of distraction to flip him over his head, holding him down by the nape of his neck and glaring down at the culprit.

"Who-" he growls.

Wide, green eyes peer back at him, pained and amused at the same time and it takes Castiel a second to process what he's seeing.

"Damn, doc," Dean groans. "You pack a mean punch."

"De-Dean?" Castiel stutters, his grip loosening.

"Hiya Cas."

Before he can say anything, Dean has flipped them over and is straddling him, hand pressed to Castiel's mouth, his face so close to the doctor's that Castiel can feel his breath wafting across his skin.

"Wh-wha-" he mumbles against Dean's hand.

"Look, Cas," Dean's usually flirtatious voice is as serious as Castiel has ever heard him. "I'mma take my hand off of your mouth... if you promise you won't yell or call the police."

Castiel shakes his head, still unable to believe what's happening. Dean nods once, and Castiel blinks, and suddenly, he's free again, Dean pulling back and staring at him intensely. His entire body is on high alert, ready to pounce at the slightest provocation, his expression nervous and worried.

"You shouldn't be here," Castiel says finally. "You're a wanted criminal, Dean."

The laugh that Dean lets out is ugly. It reminds Castiel of the way Sam had sobbed, a gargled, quiet sound that doesn't quite know what it wants to be.

"You gonna arrest me then, Cas?" he challenges. "Call Henrikson? The Sheriff maybe?"

"Do I need to?"

Dean falls silent at that, watching him with an expression that is unreadable.

"Why are you here, Dean?" Castiel asks again. "If you are on the run, why not go to Sam?"

_Why me?_

The question lingers on his lips, even when he tries to swallow it down. Because it's clear as hell to Castiel that Dean is running, not because he's guilty, but because he's innocent. The way his hands shake as he reaches out, the way his expression is terrified and pleading and tired... if there's one thing Castiel learnt in the War, it was to trust his instincts.

And it's those instincts that are telling him now that Dean is in trouble.

"I..." Dean licks his lips. Castiel's eyes are drawn to the movement and he pushes down the urge that swoops through his belly. "I need your help," he admits.

"And you thought attacking me was the best idea?"

Dean scoffs. "Give me a break, man," he says. "As you so rightly pointed out, I'm a goddamned criminal. I needed to know you weren't gonna turn me in."

"And why shouldn't I?" it's Castiel's turn to challenge him. "Why should I trust you?"

"Because I didn't do it, Cas," Dean whispers, looking away. "All those things they're sayin' about me... I didn't do it. I'm not a killer. I've stolen things, lied to people, all 'cuz I was trying to put food on the table, but I'm not a killer."

He looks straight at Castiel when says it, fae honest and vulnerable. Castiel stares back at him, for a long, quiet moment, before sighing and nodding.

"I believe you," he murmurs.

Dean's face brightens. "You do?"

"I do," he nods. "Now if you will let me up-"

The loud knock on the door has them both freezing. Dean's expression narrows and he hisses, jumping up, thrusting his arm out. It's the first time Castiel sees the knife he's holding and he glares up at the younger man.

"Really?" he hisses.

"Get rid of them," Dean growls back in response.

Castiel sighs and pushes himself to his feet. He ignores the way Dean hovers behind him, brandishing the knife in his direction. He doesn't have the heart to point out that not only is Dean's grip off, his hands are shaking and the look on his face gives him away.

Castiel's seen violence, plenty of it on the battlefront. He knows to tell the difference between violence and desperation.

Which is why he doesn't protest Dean's command, instead walking to the door with a gait as steady as he can manage it. Pulling it open, he peers outside, careful to use his body to hide what's behind him.

"Castiel, dear?"

It's Naomi. She was Lucifer's caveat in moving to this part of it; his brother couldn't comprehend why he would want to move to a place of lesser affluence and insisted that he take a housekeeper with him. Castiel had managed to talk him down into a widowed elderly neighbor who'd cook, clean and keep an eye on him, but not for a moment does he harbor the delusion that she works for him.

It's why he plasters a smile on to his face and nods at her.

"Naomi," he greets, very aware that he has the same criminal Lucifer is searching for standing right behind him. "What can I do for you?"

"I thought I heard..." her eyes light up, "Do you have a.. guest... over?"

"I-"

"A lady without a chaperone?" her voice takes on a chiding tone. "That really isn't the best of choices, is it, Castiel?"

Curious, she gestures as if to move into the house and act as said chaperone, but Castiel straightens up and shakes his head, closing the door slightly so that the already-small space was even smaller.

"I'm afraid not," he tells her. "I just got home. I'm too tired to entertain anyone at the moment, I'm afraid."

Her expression falls. "Oh I see. But I was sure I..." her eyes dart inside, trying to look past him, before she shakes her head and smiles. "Alright then, dear. I've put out dinner for you, be sure to eat all of it. Don't waste any food now."

Giving her a key to his place was a prerequisite of his arrangement with his family, but the stark reminder of it makes him wince right now. He nods at her and then shuts the door without a single word of goodbye or apology. He can almost hear the loud huff of indignance behind him as he stalks back into the living room, only to find Dean at the dining table, eyeing the food hungrily.

"Would you like some?"

Dean jumps at the sound of his voice, turning to him with a scowl. Castiel nods towards the food but Dean doesn't respond, sticking the knife in front of him in a protective gesture.

"If you aren't going to use that knife to cut into the meat here, please put it away."

Dean's expression doesn't soften. "Who was it?"

"My neighbor," Castiel sighs. "And part-time spy."

"Huh?"

"Doesn't matter," he huffs. "She won't be a problem anymore tonight. Now sit down and eat, Dean."

"I... uh, I-"

"Unless you want to do something with that knife," Castiel says impatiently, "Either sit at the table and eat or put it away and go." It's been a long, strange day, and he's tired.

Dean blinks at his tone. Without a word, he drops the knife on the table and sits down opposite Castiel, eyes drinking in the spread in front of him. The fare is meagre and simple - some turkey and ham sandwiches, some potato salad, and a bowl of cut-up fruit. It's not much, but from the way Dean's eyeing it, it looks like a feast to him.

Castiel wonders how long it's been since he ate.

"Please," he waves a hand over the table. "Help yourself."

Dean's eyes fly to his, searching. Castiel doesn't look away, meeting his probing gace unflinchingly; the younger man must have found what he is looking for, because he sighs suddenly and reaches across the table to grab a sandwich. He's tense, skittish, but Castiel doesn't react as he slowly pulls the sandwich toward himself, keeping wary eyes trained on the doctor as he bites into it.

It takes a moment, but the food and the apparent trust Castiel is displaying in him finally relaxes him.

"Fis if 'food," he mumbles around a mouthful of sandwich, and Castiel smiles.

"Naomi's a good cook," he says. "Even if she reports back to my brother about me on a regular basis."

Dean's brow furrows. "Why?"

Castiel shrugs. "Lucifer wasn't too happy about me moving here." That's just the tip of the iceberg of course, but Dean doesn't need to know that.

No one does.

Dean swallows, his expression souring at the mention of his elder brother. "Ya, I bet," he mutters.

Silence falls between them, broken only by the sounds of chewing as they both make their way through dinner. It isn't until they're both munching on the last few pieces of fruit that Castiel leans back against his chair and looks at Dean.

"Why are you here, Dean?" he asks softly.

Dean doesn't answer for a long moment. He looks up, his face more vulnerable and honest than Castiel's ever seen it.

"I needed help," he answers. "This was the first place I thought of."

He shrugs, but Castiel's chest tightens at the thought. Dean's in trouble and _he's_ the first person he's reached out to - it makes his belly swoop with a feeling he'd rather not name.

"You ran. After Michaels was killed."

Dean flinches at the name. Castiel frowns, but doesn't stop.

"But you didn't kill him."

"I didn't."

"Then why did you run?"

Dean looks away.

"If you're innocent, Dean," Castiel presses, "We can go back. I can talk to my brother, figure out what actually happened-"

"No."

"Dean-"

The screech-screech of the chair dragging against the floor echoes around the silence as Dean pushes himself up and glares down at Castiel.

"This was a mistake," he snaps suddenly. "I shouldn't have... I'm gonna go."

"Dean!"

He turns, ready to stalk out of the house, when Castiel grabs his arm and yanks him back. Dean hisses, wincing, whirling back, but his step falters and he nearly falls before Castiel catches him and holds him up.

"What the- you're injured," Castiel states, observing the way Dean cradles his arm to his chest, face scrunched up in pain.

"Thanks for telling me," he answers sarcastically.

"Dean, please. You came to me - let me help you." He inclines his head towards the injured arm, "If you won't tell me what actually happened, at least let me treat your arm."

"Tr-treat my...arm?"

"I am a doctor, believe it or not. This is what I do for a living."

Dean snorts. "Way to state the obvious, man."

Castiel hums, but doesn't reply, instead watching the younger man carefully. For a long moment, Dean does not respond, before sighing and rubbing his eyes with the back of his hands.

"Yeah, okay," he agrees. "You can help."

Castiel smiles. "Thank you, Dean."

"I'nnt that supposed to be my line?" Dean smiles sardonically. "You're helpin' me, keeping me safe."

"Indeed." Castiel gets up and holds a hand out to Dean, who takes it. Pulling him to his feet, he heads back to the couch to pick up his medical bag, directing Dean to sit on the table and stretch his arm out. "It would help if I knew what I was keeping you safe from."

Silence. Again.

Castiel turns to see that Dean is looking down at his hands, features arranged into something akin to shame and exhaustion. It's an expression he's seen far too many times on his own face, in the mirror - usually after he gives in to the urges of his condition.

Neither of them say anything while he presses down on Dean's hand, ignoring the quiet hiss the younger man gives. It doesn't take him too long to diagnose the problem - a strained ligament - and despite his irritation, he's careful to bandage the arm with gentle, deft fingers.

"Don't strain it further," he orders Dean as he puts his supplies away. "No strenuous activity for the next few days or you could risk doing permanent damage. You need to rest."

"Kinda on the run, Cas."

"You're staying here."

The words take them both by surprise. Castiel doesn't know he's going to make that offer before he's already made it; Dean starts back, shaking his head, a protest ready on his lips.

"Dean," Castiel interrupts, "You need to rest and recover. And as you pointed out, you're on the run. You're a wanted man, and if I know my brother - and I do - he's going to have every local official looking for you. This is the one place they won't come looking."

"Because you're such a reputable young doctor?" Dean winks, but the flirtatious expression fades as Castiel only frowns.

"Because Lucifer's my brother," he says. "Because I helped set up The Program and would never do anything to jeopardize what it stands for."

"Yeah, lies and torture," Dean mutters under his breath. Castiel's eyes narrow at him, and he opens his mouth to ask what he means by that, but Dean sighs and steps away, nodding.

"Alright, then, Cas," he says. "I'll stay. For a few days. Till I'm all healed up."

_And then?_

The question lingers between them, unasked and unanswered, but for now, Castiel lets it go. Instead, he grabs his supplies to put them away and points Dean in the direction of his spare cot, the familiar motions of readying himself for bed soothing the anxious feeling growing in the pit of his stomach.

And it's only when they're both in bed, light extinguished, Dean's soft breath echoing from across his own bedroom, that Castiel allows himself to admit it.

He didn't just ask Dean to stay to help him. He asked Dean to stay because he wants him to stay - because he just _wants_ him.

That's far more terrifying.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Castiel wakes up to the delicious smell of bacon frying. He frowns, rolling over and jumping off of his bed, walking down to the kitchen in a half-sleepy haze. Rubbing his eyes, he yawns and then stares at the sight in front of him, because it takes a moment to process what he's seeing.

Dean is at the stove, one arm cradled to his chest in the sling that Castiel made for him last night, the other stirring the bacon that's sizzling on the pan in front of him.

But that's not what has Castiel's mouth going dry or his belly doing summersaults.

It's the way Dean's stripped down to nothing but a thin shirt and some really short trousers. It doesn't cross the bounds of decency to be sure, but Castiel's eyes are drawn to the way his muscles flex as he stretches his broad shoulders and then hums in satisfaction.

Turning the stove off, he whirls on one foot, precariously balancing the pan with one hand, when he catches sight of Castiel behind him.

"Oh!"

They both stare at one another for a long moment, Dean's eyes widening and a blush darkening his cheeks as he looks away. Castiel licks his lips; it's early yet and they've drawn the curtains on the windows to prevent prying eyes from seeing Dean in the house, but the dim light only heightens how beautiful he looks.

"Hiya Cas," he murmurs awkwardly.

"Hello Dean," he answers. "You... you uh, made breakfast?"

Dean nods. "Figured it was the least I could do... you know, for puttin' up wimme."

"I'm not ‘putting up with you’," Castiel mimics and Dean snorts. "But I do appreciate it. Thank you."

"You uh... might wanna get dressed before we eat, man," Dean gestures towards him.

Castiel looks down in confusion. A flush pricks at his neck as he realizes that he's the one dressed indecently, wearing nothing but his trousers, his chest bare. He's so used to sleeping like this that it didn't even register; given that he lives alone, and that he's not here usually Naomi lets herself in and out to do the cooking, it takes him a moment before he shakes his head and stumbles over an apology.

"So-sorry."

Dean smirks. "I'm not." He looks up, his eyes lingering on Castiel's almost-naked form, tracing the dips and the scars, and Castiel feels something shiver down his spine. If he didn't know any better, he'd almost say that Dean's expression is one of interest - he's looking at Castiel the way Castiel knows he himself should be looking at a woman.

_The Devil lives in you, Castiel._

Lucifer's voice echoes in his head, a cold reminder of how _wrong_ this is, of how he cannot have this, and Castiel turns away abruptly, swallowing past the sudden lump in his throat.

"I'm going to go get dressed," he calls back, already striding back to his room.

When he returns to the kitchen a while later, dressed and ready for the day, Dean is at the table. He's also taken the time to dress, albeit in yesterday's clothes, and Castiel frowns.

"How is your arm?" he asks.

Dean shrugs. "Fine."

An uneasy silence falls between them as Dean pushes the food closer to Castiel. He breathes in deeply, savoring the delicious smell, before making a plate for himself. He groans around the first bite, noting the smug look on Dean's face that appears at the sound.

"This is amazing," he says, swallowing. "I didn't know you could cook."

Dean tenses. "My Ma taught me," he says, his tone defensive. "And after Dad died... you gotta do what you gotta do for family."

"For... Sam?"

Dean nods. "Yeah."

"Why..." Castiel hesitates, "Why didn't you marry? You're of age and a woman around the house-"

"Not interested," Dean shrugs. "Sammy's my responsibility anyway."

"You're a good man, Dean," Castiel says.

"Not sure everyone in town would agree with you right now, doc," Dean mutters, offering him a pained smile. "Murderer on the run, remember?"

Castiel doesn't know what to say to that, so he remains quiet, focusing on the food instead. Silence takes up the space between them again, but it's comfortable this time, and Castiel is reluctant to break it when he finally polishes the last of his food.

"I have to head in to the clinic," he says.

Dean tenses. "Why?"

"I can't exactly sit around the house the whole day, Dean," Castiel tells him. "Not only do I have patients to attend to, it would also rouse suspicion. If people are wondering I'm not coming in to work today, they're bound to come by-"

"-and catch me here," Dean finishes. "Yeah."

"Stay indoors. Don't go outside. You're welcome to everything in my house, but I only ask that you do not touch my bag of medical supplies," he gestures towards the second bag he keeps for emergencies, "Or that you go into my bedroom. I'll tell Naomi that I don't need her to cook for the next couple of days until..." he trails off. Until Dean recovers? Until he runs again? Until his innocence is proven?

"..for the next couple of days," Castiel finishes weakly.

"I can take care of myself, Cas," Dean answers gruffly.

"I never said you couldn't. Doesn't mean you shouldn't take help when it's offered."

_Not a choice, Cas. And definitely not broken._

There was once a time when he was torn and lonely and alone. Charlie found him then, showed him a kindness he didn't think existed in the world.

He wonders if the wonder and fragile trust he sees on Dean's face now is what she saw in him all that time ago. She hugged him then. He wants to do the same with Dean right now, but he clenches his fists and shoves his hands into his pockets. If it was inappropriate for a lady to hug a man unrelated to her then, it's certainly not appropriate the way he wants to run his hand through Dean's hair and hold him close - not just because he's attracted to Dean, but also because he wants to offer him comfort, to soothe his aches and to let him know that he's not alone.

Dean smiles. "Thanks doc," he says quietly. "I'll wait for you to get back. Maybe make myself useful 'round the house while I'm at it."

Castiel inclines his head and tries to tell himself that Dean waiting for him doesn't mean what he wants it to mean.

*-*-*

The rest of the day passes by both too slow and too fast. Castiel barely remembers to stop by Naomi's house before he leaves. She, as he expected, isn't happy about losing her job as his housekeeper, even if only for a short time.

"Things will pile up in a week, Castiel!" she protests. "What will you eat? Your house will be dirty without-"

"It's fine, Naomi," he interrupts. "I am a grown man."

She offers him a dirty look. "Exactly. You're a man."

Sighing to himself, he shakes his head and insists that he needs a week free of her influence.

"Castiel," she gasps, "Wait, are you entertaining a lady? You're going to need a chaperone-"

"There's no lady, Naomi," he snaps, losing his patience. "As I told you last night. I just need some space to myself."

She eyes him suspiciously. "Is it... is it a man, then?"

A chill runs down his spine, the long-held suspicion in his mind confirmed. She _knows_.

"There's no man or woman," he retorts, "I just... I just want some time to myself, Naomi. Please."

She steps back into her house, an injured expression on her face. "Fine," she huffs. "I shall refrain from coming over for the next week." She looks like she's going to question him further, so Castiel avoids it by quickly thanking her and heading out to the clinic.

Time crawls as he waits for his patients. He's early, too early, in fact, for the clinic to be open. A part of him wants to go back home, to see if Dean really will stay, skittish and tense as he was. Another part of him wants to remain here, terrified of the feelings the younger man induces in him.

He wants Dean.

If Lucifer were to find out... if the whole town were to find out...

Castiel has made himself a name, certainly, as the do-gooder doctor who settled in a poorer part of town after his time in the Army. His family is well-known, rich and powerful, but he's endeared himself to the townsfolk, to the working class he serves at nominal rates. He works as a doctor here, not because he has to, but because he wants to - it gives him purpose as nothing else has since the War ended.

He doesn't think the potluck invites, the warm smiles and the trust he's earned would remain if they find out he's a homosexual.

And there's the fact that Dean's a criminal. Lucifer's searching for him. Castiel doesn't know what happened at the camp, but even if he believes that Alistair Michaels wasn't killed by Dean, someone still stabbed his brother's second-in-command to death.

Lucifer didn't tell him.

Castiel frowns at the thought. He wonders why Lucifer still hasn't sent for him, still hasn't sent a message at the very least. He's a Novak; he may have relegated himself to just being an on-call doctor for The Program, but he was one of the people involved in its very design and conception - he should've heard something by now.

The thought gnaws at him throughout the day, even as Nurse Missouri hands him his patient list and his schedule for the day. He wonders off-hand if he should send the messenger to his brother, demanding answers instead, but he quickly dismisses the thought. Not only does he not trust Lucifer to answer honestly, demanding anything of his brother would mean opening himself up to his scrutiny and that would put both him and Dean in danger.

He'll be damned if he puts the younger man in danger. He doesn't know what it it is about the younger man that draws him in but he won't be the reason for Dean to get arrested.

But how long can he hide him?

"Doc? Doc!"

The soft swipe of a feminine hand against his elbow startles Castiel. He turns to see his other nurse, Meg, standing there behind him, a quizzical expression on her heart-shaped face.

"What?" he snaps.

"You were lost in your own head," she snarks back. "You got patients to see, Clarence, so snap out of it."

He grunts in response; if there ever was a nurse far from the description of what a sweet woman should be, it's Meg. But she's efficient and smart and knows what to do, even if she's often on the bounds of breaking decency with the way she saddles up to him and touches him.

"Did you hear?" she asks as they swiftly change the sheets on the bed that just cleared out. "Jo just saw Officer Henrikson leave Sam's house. I have to say, it'd be very stupid of Dean to go to his brother's house if he wanted to escape."

Castiel freezes.

Sam. _Sam._

Dean's in his home right now, but Sam doesn't know. Neither of them even considered telling the younger Winchester.

The urge to run back home and let Dean know that Sam believes in his innocence  - that Sam doesn't think his brother capable of murder - has Castiel clenching his fists and breathing in slowly to calm himself. He can't do that right now, can't be impulsive; he has to be collected and calm lest he endanger Dean further.

But a plan does form in his mind as he half-listens to Meg's gossip-filled rambles through the rest of the day. The afternoon crawls by and he wonders what Dean is doing in his home.

Castiel packs up to leave the minute he can, stepping out of his clinic and walking briskly back in the direction of his house.

"Hey doc," Meg's sultry voice has him turning back with a frown. "You're in a hurry."

"I, uh," Castiel clears his throat. "It's been a long day and I'm tired."

She leans in, a seductive smirk on her face, and trails one long, delicate finger over his arm. "Would you like me to help you relax a little?"

It's not the first time she has attempted to seduce him, but it's never been quite as blatant as this.

"Meg," he sighs, "I've told you already. I'm not looking for a relationship right now. I don't want to marry or court anyone."

She looks almost insulted. "Who said anything about courting?" she demands, "You're a man, doc, I'm sure you have needs. I'm just... offering to fulfill them."

"Meg," he says impatiently. "No. Now please, I'm tired and you're in my way."

"Fine," she huffs. "I can take a hint. But tell me why, doc. It isn't like you got a woman waitin' for you at home."

Castiel doesn't mean to freeze up, he _doesn't_ \- but Meg catches it, a bloodhound on a scent, unable to let it go.

“You do!” she exclaims. “You do have a woman waiting for you. Didn’t think you had it in you, doc.”

“I don’t have a woman waiting, Meg,” he tells her tersely. “Now, if you will excuse me, I have to head back. Have a good night.”

Meg huffs, but Castiel doesn’t stay behind to further listen to her. His mind racing a mile a minute; he needs to get Dean to Sam - Dean won’t hide from Sam, not the way he dotes on his brother.

*-*-*

“No.”

In hindsight, Castiel thinks, he really should have expected this. There was a reason Dean didn’t go to Sam when he first escaped the camp, after all, and no matter how much Castiel wants to flatter himself into thinking that it’s because Dean cares for him, he knows he can’t be so foolish.

He just didn’t expect Dean to be so utterly reticent about the idea. Or shoot it down with no explanation whatsoever.

“Dean-” he tries. “Sam’s-”

“No, Cas.”

“Dean!” Castiel cries in exasperation. “I’m trying to help you. Sam can help, he’s-”

“Victor’s already been to his house to question him once,” Dean interrupts tersely. “If I go to him, he’s just gonna get arrested. I’m not putting my brother in that position, Cas.”

“I’m not asking you to go to his house,” Castiel snaps. “I’m not that stupid. I’m saying I’ll get Sam here - your brother deserves to know that you’re innocent and that you’re safe, Dean!”

“What if Henrikson finds out, Cas?” Dean challenges. “Lucifer’s _your_ brother. Even if he finds me here, you ain’t gonna get hurt - think Sam will be in the same position?”

Castiel’s protest dies on his lips. “Oh,” he mutters. “Is that…”

His heart shouldn’t feel like it’s been cleaved in two. His stomach shouldn’t drop, his throat shouldn’t feel this tight - because Dean isn’t, can’t ever be what he wants him to be.

His mouth still feels like sandpaper anyway. “Is that why you came to me? Because Lucifer is my brother?”

Dean’s mouth opens and then closes and he deflates before Castiel’s eyes. “No,” he murmurs. “No, that’s not… I’m sorry, Cas. that isn’t what I meant.”

“Then what did you mean? I’m trying to help, but you won’t let me.”

“Look… what happened…” Dean hesitates, “I… can’t involve Sam in it, Cas. I just can’t.”

“Why?”

“Because it isn’t his mess to clean up - it’s mine,” Dean says softly. “And as soon as my arm heals, I’m outta here. I don’t want you involved either.”

“Dean, I appreciate that, but-”

“Dinner’s on the table,” he interrupts. “You need to stock your pantry, man, I could only throw together a sad pasta with what you had.”

Castiel blinks, thrown by the sudden change in subject. “You… cooked? Again?”

Dean offers him a crooked grin. “Told you I would make myself useful, didn’t I?”

He looks so young and beautiful, it almost breaks Castiel’s heart. Sighing, he nods wearily, and goes to wash up, readying himself for dinner. It feels so domestic, sliding in together at the table, Dean slapping his hand away as Castiel tries to reach for the still-cooking food before he settles in in front of him, smiling softly and asking him about his day at work.

It’s the kind of thing reserved for man and wife, the kind of thing he might have once dreamt about when he was younger and thought this was what he was supposed to want. As he grew older, he learnt that he didn’t want a woman opposite him, and such things could never be - men married women and raised families together. This was the fundamental truth of life; if only he could do the same.

Pushing the thought away, he tries to focus on the pasta. Dean is an excellent cook and Castiel’s enjoying a second helping of his food when the knock comes.

They both freeze, staring at one another tensely.

“I’ll- uh-” Dean gestures towards the bedrooms where he can hide, and Castiel nods. A part of him is gratified that Dean trusts him this time, and he can’t help the small smile that curves his lips.

The smile vanishes the second he throws the door open, however, and his blood runs cold at the sight in front of him.

“Hello brother,” Lucifer grins.

*-*-*

"Lucifer."

Castiel feels detached from his own body, as though he is watching himself greet his elder brother in so cold a manner. He clenches his fist in an attempt to ground himself.

"What are you doing here, Lucifer?" he asks loudly, resisting the temptation to turn behind him and see if Dean is standing there.

"Can't a brother come to visit, Castiel?" Lucifer responds smoothly. "You do not visit, do not write to us... Mother worries. As do I."

"You could've sent for me if you wanted to speak to me instead of dropping in unannounced."

"Why?" One blonde eyebrow climbs up a smooth forehead and Lucifer's eyes narrow at him. "Are you entertaining a guest you should not be?"

Castiel's breath hitches. "Don't be absurd," he snaps. "I simply wanted to be helpful is all. Save you the trouble of traveling all the way across town just to see me."

"Then why aren't you inviting me in?"

Castiel swallows. Before he can answer though, Lucifer pushes past him, walking into the house, still talking. The doctor's chest tightens with fear, his palms clammy with sweat, even as he rubs them on his trousers, stalking in behind his elder brother.

"Naomi tells me you asked her not to do the housekeeping for the week. Care to share why?"

"I wanted to cook for myself," Castiel says tersely. His eyes dart about but Dean is nowhere to be found, the living room empty as Lucifer seats himself on the armchair. "I did not realize that I was required to report to you about every moment of my life."

"This," Lucifer gestures across the room, "This is why you need a wife, Castiel. To cook and clean and look after the house - to make it a home for you. Why must you insist on being so stubborn-"

It's the same old argument, the same old nonsense that drove him to leave the family estate in the first place. Castiel has no patience to rehash it, not right now. Not when Dean is hiding in here somewhere, about to be caught by the very man he's on the run from.

"Why are you here, Lucifer?"

Lucifer pauses. "I assume you read the newspaper?"

"The Program. Michaels's death."

"Indeed," his elder brother nods. "Forgive me for not informing you earlier, brother. I've been busy coordinating the effort to capture Winchester."

"Are you certain he's the killer?" Castiel can't help but ask. Maybe if he can convince his brother that Dean didn't do it, maybe, just maybe...

"Of course he is." The hope dies with Lucifer's ugly snort. "Winchester is a ruffian and a street urchin. I have volunteers who were present at the scene, who watched him murder Alistair."

The sound of a low growl echoes around the room. Castiel covers it up by coughing loudly, eyes darting to the source of the sound.

_Dean._

Lucifer glares at him. "Are you alright there, Castiel?"

"Just tired, brother," he says. "Now tell me, how may I be of assistance? Have you found a replacement for Mr. Michaels over at the camp?"

"You can tell Winchester to come out from wherever he's hiding."

Castiel freezes. "Wh-what are you talking about?" he stutters. "Why would Dean-"

"Dean, is it?" Lucifer narrows in and Castiel curses inwardly. "Dean is here, isn't he, Castiel?"

"Lucifer, you must be out of your mind. Why would Mr. Winchester be here?"

"That would be the question, wouldn't it?" Lucifer muses, standing up. "I was aware that you and he were acquaintances, of course, and Naomi informed me that Sam Winchester came to visit you the other day... but why would his elder brother take refuge here, of all places?"

"Lucifer, you-"

"When Meg told me today that you are, possibly, entertaining a guest, I was curious. I must admit, I did not expect to see you fall so low, brother."

Castiel glares at him. "So Meg reports to you as well?" he spits. "Is there anyone in my life I can truly trust?"

"Perhaps if you weren't so misguided, then you could," Lucifer snaps back. "Is Dean possessed by the Devil too brother? Is that why you harbor a known fugitive in your home? Does he spread his legs for you the way a whore would? Or are you the one doing the spreading?"

The only warning Castiel has that something is wrong is the way his brother's eyes widen in warning and fear. And then a cold blade is held to his throat, a strong form pressing into him from behind, even as a muscled arm wraps itself across his torso, pulling him in close.

"The only Devil in here is _you_ ," Dean spits. Castiel stiffens in his grasp, his heart thundering. He can hear his own blood pounding in his ears - what in the world is Dean doing?

Did he hear what Lucifer said? Does he think Castiel dirty like the rest of his family does?

"Mr. Winchester. I see you've led my brother astray with your dirty, low-class nonsense-"

"Here's what's going to happen," Dean cuts in. "You're gonna let me go, give me the horse and carriage that carried your ass here today and stay quiet while I run. Or the good doc here," he yanks Castiel's hair back hard enough that his eyes water, "Is going to bite it. Like Michaels did."

Castiel's blood runs cold. The way Dean says it... the familiarity - did he kill him after all?

Was he mistaken?

_I didn't kill him, Cas._

The earnest look in those eyes, the warmth in that face, the way his hands had clenched and unclenched in fear...

The same hands hold the knife against Castiel's own throat so surely now, as though this isn't the first time he's doing it, as though they're familiar with this violence.

"You won't get away with this," Lucifer hisses. "You're a murderer, Dean. The Program doesn't tolerate killers."

"The only difference between you and me, Luci," Dean retorts, "Is that I don't use volunteers as lab rats. Your _Program_ is nothing more than a fuckin' front."

"What does that mean?" Castiel demands. The hands holding him tighten their grip, but he ignores them in favor of glaring at Lucifer.

"He's a killer, Castiel, he's _lying-_ "

"Am I?" Dean cuts him off. "What about the twelve missing soldiers who 'ran' away from the tests?"

"You filthy-"

"Or the tests themselves, Luci. Want to tell your precious younger brother what they were for?"

"Lucifer?"

"I did what I had to do," Lucifer scowls, "You're the killer, Dean. You killed Alistair-"

"Let me go," Dean interrupts. Thin, sharp-edged pain erupts across Castiel's throat as he presses the knife in just the slightest bit. His skin tickles as a drop of blood rolls down his neck, the cut small but sure enough to convince his elder brother.

"Don't hurt him." It's almost strange, Castiel muses bitterly, that it takes the threat of death for Lucifer to show any amount of concern for him. "Don't-"

"Move," Dean snarls.

Lucifer throws his hands up and steps aside. Dean whirls around, taking Castiel with him, walking them both backwards, his eyes trained on Lucifer.

"Don't follow us," he warns.

"You're a fool if you think I won't," Lucifer growls back. "I won't let your infection spread to my younger brother, Dean."

Dean doesn't answer, instead dragging them both down the hallway. The instant they're at the door, he lets Castiel go, grabs his hand and throws the door open.

Dumbfounded as he is, mind reeling with all that he's learnt, Castiel twines their fingers together, following him without question. Dean leads them out, straight to the carriage that waits outside.

"No!" Castiel comes back to himself just as Dean jumps on to the horse.

"Cas, what-"

"No, we're not doing this," Castiel says forcefully.

"Cas, I know, I'm sorry, I hurt you, but we gotta go, we gotta-"

"Get inside the carriage, Dean," he snaps. "Your face has been plastered all over town, people will recognize you the instant they see you. You'll be safer inside."

Dean blinks. "I- what?"

"Now!"

Dazed, Dean does as directed, jumping into the carriage and throwing the door shut. He draws the curtains and crouches low inside, even as Castiel mounts the horse with practiced ease, kicking his heels in and pushing forward.

"Hang on!"

"Where are we going?!" Dean snaps.

"Only one place we can."

*-*-*

Charlie's home hasn't changed in all the years since he's seen it. The sprawling mansion still sits in the middle of wide, grassy fields that they ride through to get to the stables. Castiel dismounts, handing the carriage to a stable hand, even as he opens the door, motioning for Dean to get out.

The younger man does so hesitantly, his expression confused and more than a little guarded.

"Where are we?" he asks.

"At the residence of a friend," Castiel answers. "She will offer us her protection."

"She?" Dean's expression goes from guarded to outright hostile. "Is this your lady paramour?"

"Do not be absurd," Castiel sighs. "Charlie is no paramour of mine."

"Charlie?"

"She was..." Castiel hesitates and then plunges in, "She was the first person to help me find my way away from my family."

"And you're sure you can trust her?"

"Indeed," Castiel hums.

Dean remains silent as they make their way inside the mansion. Castiel quickly tells the servant at the front to announce them; Charlie doesn't stand on formality, for sure, but he doesn't want to give offense to any visitors she might be entertaining.

"And me?"

Dean's voice is low and quiet. Castiel turns to him, confused.

"What you?"

"You... trust me?"

He blinks. "Of course I do," he says.

Dean leans in. Castiel's breath hitches as green, green eyes peer into his own, and a rough thumb comes up to swipe against his cheek before tracing a path down to his neck. When the hand pulls away, Dean's thumb is red, even as a dull, throbbing ache makes itself known to Castiel.

"Even though I did _this_?" Dean murmurs.

"Were you truly going to kill me?" Castiel murmurs back in lieu of an answer.

Dean looks away. "Of course not."

"Then, yes," Castil hums, "I do. I do trust you."

He barks out an ugly laugh. "Why?"

"Because you are my friend," Castiel tells him softly. "And I..." he trails away, feeling his cheeks burn, both from the quiet admission and the proximity.

"And you what, Cas?" Dean whispers, leaning in again. Their noses are close enough to brush, and Castiel can see the many freckles that dot the younger man's face like this.

"Castiel?"

The loud cry has them both jumping away from one another as though burned. Castiel whirls around to see Charlie walking toward them, a sunny smile on her face even as she holds her skirts up in an attempt to move faster.

"Charlie."

A slow smile spreads over his own face and he hurries forward to meet her. From the corner of his eye, he sees Dean watching them, jaw dropping in surprise as the redhead throws herself at Castiel, hugging him tightly. It's not the most appropriate of behaviors for a lady in Charlie's standing, even if times are changing. But then, Charlie has never been one for airs.

"Hello," he hums, pulling back.

"How have you been?" she exclaims, kissing his cheek. "It's been too long since you came to see me last."

"I'm well. And you?"

She waves her hand around the room. "As you can see, I'm quite well." A small smirk curves the corner of her lips as she winks at him and Castiel feels the delighted laugh bubble at the back of his throat.

Lord, but how long has it been since he could just let go of the tension and relax? Before the War, Charlie was the safe space he fled to when he wanted to hide from Lucifer and the rest of his family; seeing her now brings back all those warm feelings.

Dean, however, clearly doesn't feel the same.

"Uh, doc?" he snaps, his voice low, almost a growl.

Charlie looks him up and down, the smile fading from her face. Dean meets her gaze without flinching, a challenge written in his eyes, and the redhead turns to Castiel with a frown a moment later.

"Cas? Would you like to tell me why I have a wanted murderer standing in my doorway?"

Her voice is mild but her expression is blank and hard. He's only ever seen it a few times and he rushes to clarify the truth - if there is one thing he doesn't want, it's to be on her bad side.

"He's not dangerous, Charlie," he tells her. "And the papers don't know the full truth."

"Which is?"

"I didn't kill Alistair Michaels," Dean jumps in. "I..."

"That's exactly what a criminal would say." Charlie raises one red brow. "Why should I believe you?"

"Because I'm telling the truth," Dean snaps. "Because Lucifer and his men framed me for daring to speak out against his... his experiments."

Castiel's fists clench at the statement. This is the second time Dean has referred to The Program as being anything less than legal or right and it hurts - he's been involved with this since the very beginning and yet, it seems, he doesn't know anything about it.

"Lucifer?" Charlie's eyes narrow at Castiel. "You're... of course you are," she mutters.

"He's my brother," he says quietly. "Did you really think I was going to give him up completely?"

"No," she sighs. "But I did hope you wouldn't let him dictate your life. He's named for the Devil for a reason, Cas."

"So you've told me. Repeatedly."

Charlie rolls her eyes but doesn't answer, istead turning to Dean, who is eyeing them both with an expression Castiel can't quite place. If he didn't know any better, he would say it looks almost like jealousy; only why would Dean be jealous?

"Mr..." Charlie pauses, "Winchester, is it?"

"Dean," he insists.

"Dean," she agrees, "So Lucifer went mad scientist on The Program's volunteers, you tried to protest and he had you framed for it?"

Dean nods. "Sounds about right."

"Ugh, Christ," Charlie swears. Castiel glares at her, but she ignores him and steps away, patting Dean's hand.

"Alright, then, Dean," she says, "You're both welcome to stay here as long as you need. Come," she gestures towards the living room, and Dean blinks, confused.

"Just... like that?" he asks suspiciously. "You believe me?"

"I'm going to have questions later," Charlie nods, "Lots of them. But for now, yes."

"Why?"

She shrugs, dainty, chiffon-covered shoulders moving up and down. "Because Cas does. And I trust Cas."

Before either of them can muster up a response to that, she's already gone, striding down the hallway in a brisk manner and calling out for her servants to get two bedrooms within the manor ready for them.

"Don't worry," Castiel reassures a nonplussed looking Dean, "The servants are all loyal to her, they won't breathe a word of what's happening inside here to anyone else."

"I uh..." Dean shakes himself, "I'm not worried about that."

"Is something wrong?"

"Just... who is she, man?"

Castiel smiles. He tilts his head and meets Dean's probing gaze without hesitation.

"I told you, Dean," he hums, "She's a friend. And she will help us."

"As you say, doc," Dean mutters. "As you say."


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

"So, Dean."

Castiel watches in growing amusement as Dean warily sets down the cup of coffee he is holding and faces Charlie directly. The redhead held off on questioning the two of them until they were a little more settled. They've both washed and rubbed their faces, Castiel's wound bandaged and taken care of, before they joined Charlie in the dining room for a cup of tea.

"Yes ma'am?"

Charlie hoots a laugh. "Charlie," she tells him, her eyes warm. "Call me just Charlie."

"Is that really your name, Milady?" he asks shrewdly. "Sounds like a street critter to me."

"Sharp, aren't you?" she smiles. "My full name is Charlene, but I prefer Charlie. Now tell me, Dean - what exactly are you running from?"

The humor vanishes from Dean's face and Castiel sets his own cup of tea down on the table, watching him expectantly.

"That's not... I don't..."

"Can't help you if you don't tell me what's going on," Charlie insists.

"Not somethin' a lady should be gettin' involved in anyway, Charlie," Dean says, his tone gruff. "This is dangerous stuff, ma'am."

"I'm involved by virtue of the fact that it's _my_ dining room the both of you are seated in right now," Charlie retorts. "If I wanted to avoid danger, I wouldn't have volunteered to be a nurse in the Army."

Castiel hears Dean's sharp catch of breath.

"You... you were in the War?" he stutters.

"How do you think I met Cas?" she smiles.

"Shoulda known," Dean mutters. Silence falls for a moment before he sighs and eyes both of them, shaking his head. "Look, both of you, I appreciate all that you've done, but you're gonna get yourselves killed-"

"The Program was _my_ idea, Dean," Castiel interrupts. "I was one of the people involved in its very conception. If there's something going on inside the camp that's untoward, I have the right to know."

"Yeah, you and I?" Charlie glares at Castiel, "We're going to have a talk about this Program you've set up. Later."

He winces; Charlie was vocal about his return to his family after the War, and he knows she's not going to be pleased that he went to Lucifer with the idea instead of her.

"But first," she sits back in her chari and turns her glare on to Dean. "Explain."

He sighs, rubbing the bridge of his nose with his hands. "Cas, do you wanna..."

"What?"

"What was The Program meant for initially?"

Castiel blinks. "Uh... After the War...the government was demobilizing the arm Army," he says. "We returned home and tried to resettle into our old lives but..." he trails off, remembering those initial days of struggle, of being unable to sleep at night because he kept hearing the wounded cries of his brothers-in-arms. "It wasn't easy," he says finally.

"Home is far more dangerous terrain," Charlie murmurs.

"Indeed," Castiel smiles wanly. "I was restless and haunted, but it wasn't until I spoke to some of the other men that I realized that many of them did not know anything but fighting. They'd been drafted into the Army as little more than young lads. They did not have any means of survival once they returned, because they did not know what jobs to do."

"...you did something," Charlie deduces.

Castiel nods. "They needed jobs, and it had to be work they were familiar with. The government was worried about a second war, but it demobilized them without providing alternatives. So I just..." he shrugs. "The Program seemed liked the best option at the time. We called for volunteers and then sent our petition to the government for approval."

"Not that they knew what they were approvin'," Dean mutters.

"It was supposed to be further training for soldiers to create a team of elite military," Castiel snaps. "To experiment with new drugs and tests to see if we could create stronger, powerful men with their consent."

"Wait," Charlie interrupts, "Dean, which regiment were you in?"

"I wasn't," he says shortly.

"But I thought-" Charlie looks confused.

"It was intended to be for soldiers," Castiel tells her. "But eventually, The Program become less about perfecting a super soldier and more about how science could help protect soldiers on the battlefield in general. We expanded the purview of the project to include all young men between the ages of eighteen to thirty five, so long as they were healthy."

Charlie's expression clears and she turns to Dean. "But it turned out to be something else, I assume?"

"I uh... it was..." Dean suddenly looks unsure. "Look, it wasn't great. I just..."

"What was going on, Dean?" Castiel demands. "If The Program wasn't helping soldiers what was it-"

"Conversion!" Dean blurts.

Castiel's blood runs cold. No, no, this couldn't... Lucifer _couldn't_ ... he _wouldn't_....

"All of them were... we were..." Dean continues, unaware of Castiel's inner turmoil, "Lucifer wanted to convert us. To see if we could be _cured_."

"Of?" Charlie's voice is barely more than a whisper, but Castiel knows she already knows.

"What else? Homosexuality." Dean's voice is bitterer than he's ever heard it. "And for those of us who weren't already homosexual, he wanted to see if we could be turned into one."

"That can't- Lucifer can't-"

"Michaels... Michaels was in charge of our camp. It started out small... vials of our blood, little injections... And then..." Dean snorts, the sound that of a wounded animal.

Silence falls between them, tense and horrified. Castiel's stomach is tight, his heart hammering in his chest - because this is all _his_ fault.

_He_ caused this. Of that, he has no doubt whatsoever. Even if he didn't enable Lucifer with his ideas for the Program, even if he wasn't the original one behind this whole setup... Lucifer is doing this because of him.

Because of _his_ homosexuality.

And then his mind screeches to a halt, because the implications of what Dean just said hits him.

Vials of our blood... those of us who weren't already homosexual...

Dean.

Dean is... he _has_ to be...

Castiel opens his mouth, the question burning on his lips, and then closes it again - even is Dean is... is _queer_ , it doesn't... it doesn't mean he cares for Castiel. It doesn't mean he doesn't blame Castiel for his brother's actions. Conversion therapy is not new to him, he knows the horror stories.

And Castiel is responsible for all of it, for all of his suffering.

He doesn't deserve Dean's attention.

So he swallows hard and turns to Charlie, who is watching them both with a sympathetic expression on her face.

"Dean," she murmurs, setting her teacup down. "I want you to listen to me, alright? Whatever they did?" she reaches over and takes his hand in hers, rubbing her thumb over his gently. Dean starts, surprised, but she holds firm until he meets her gaze. "It was wrong. You are not wrong. Homosexuality... it isn't a sin. It's not something to turn on and off, it's not an infection, it just... is."

Dean's expression melts and a raw, vulnerability shines out of those beautiful green eyes. Castiel starts - it didn't occur to him that Dean must have been terrified just then, to reveal the truth. But Charlie, of course, as she is wont to doing, saw straight to the heart of the matter.

Not for the first time, he thanks the Lord for sending her to him.

"I uh... I'm-"

"Not wrong," she insists, the same as she did years ago, when he was the one having a panic attack about his attraction to men. "It's not wrong. Michaels, Lucifer, every one who thinks that you're a sin - that _love_ is a sin - they're wrong. Okay?"

Dean's eyes meet Castiel's, probing and wide. Castiel dips his head in one, quick, short nod, but that's all it takes. He exhales slowly, squeezes Charlie's hand over his own and smiles gruffly.

"Yeah okay," he says.

"Good." Charlie withdraws, but the warmth on her face lingers. "So? Michaels? What happened there?"

"I didn't kill him."

"We know," Castiel's voice feels like sandpaper. "What happened, Dean?"

Dean closes his eyes, breathes in deeply and then speaks in a low tone. "It was just another day at camp… we'd been there for so long, all the days and nights melted together. I was hungry, but that wasn't anythin' new... Michaels fed us one meal a day, said the abstinence would cure our dirty desires."

"Fucking..." Charlie's curse is a murmured whisper of anger. Any louder and they'd all break, Castiel knows.

"I was in my cell, when I heard the screams," Dean says quietly. "It was just a kid, barely Sammy's age... Samandriel. He was screamin' and screamin', and suddenly, I couldn't take it anymore." He looks up, eyes red-rimmed with quiet tears, "I pretended I was sick. Got a guard to let me out of my cell. Knocked him out and raced into Michaels’ lab. I couldn't... Alistair was... was..." Dean's voice breaks and he clenches his fist tight against the memories. "Kid was writhing in pain. Bleedin'. Strapped to the table like an animal."

A low growl cuts through the air and Castiel is almost surprised to realize it's coming from him.

"I grabbed the nearest weapon I could find - a scalpel - and I jumped on him. Alistair... he..." Dean shudders, "He attacked me right back, and I lost the damn thing. We fought, struggled, but in the end..."

Silence falls again, and again, Castiel does not know what to say. Dean's face is heartbroken with the memories, tinged with the pain and the suffering he's endured - on Castiel's brother's hand.

It hurts.

"Alistair grabbed Samandriel," Dean says suddenly, "Thrust a knife between his ribs. But Samandriel... the kid wasn't goin' down without a fight."

"He killed him," Charlie realizes. "It was Samandriel."

Dean nods. "Yeah. Alistair bled out within seconds, but the kid..." He lets out a sound that is a half-sib, half-laugh, "Kid was brave as hell and he took time... made me promise to get everyone out. And I... I didn't."

There's a look of such self-loathing on Dean's face, it churns Castiel's stomach to hear it. He longs to lean in, longs to wrap his arms around him, to comfort him  - to apologize, because Castiel's brother is the cause of this, Castiel is the reason Dean is in this mess in the first place... but his throat is too tight, his voice lost, and he doesn't know how to say any of that-

Fortunately for him, Charlie does. She leans in, pats Dean's hand and presses a quick kiss to his cheek.

"You did what you had to do to survive," she tells him. "That is not cowardice, Dean. You tried to save Samandriel. And now, because you ran, we can get the rest of them."

"How?" Dean says forlorn. "No offense, Milady, but Lucifer is powerful. Not to mention, no one in the government is gonna care about a bunch of _homosexuals_." Dean spits the word out like it's dirty. "This ain't the first conversion camp I've seen, it won't be the last."

"Maybe not," Castiel speaks up, his voice as steady as he can make it. "Maybe I cannot do anything about the conversion. But I can ensure the camp is broken up - this wasn't what the volunteers signed up for. The Program was set up to build super soldiers, not cure homosexuality. By crossing that boundary, Lucifer has already rendered the contract with the government null and void. What he is doing is illegal."

"You... you can really use that?" Dean seems skeptical.

Charlie and Castiel share a look. "If we can prove that Alistair and the rest of them were torturing the volunteers under the name of scientific experimentation, yes," Charlie answers. “There’s a difference between running a camp for volunteers consensually and then treating them like lab rats.”

“How’re we gonna do that? ‘S not like anyone’s gonna listen to me, I’m a certified murderer.”

Charlie’s smile is a thing of beauty, quiet and sharp and angry like Castiel remembers her being from the war.

“Leave that to me,” she says, “I have a plan.”

*-*-*

“You should get to sleep.”

Charlie’s voice is a welcome distraction. Castiel smiles up at her from where he’s lying on the ground, having been staring up at the stars for the past few hours. It’s one of the reasons he used to love coming out here, to her home on the edge of town - there’s nothing but empty sky and field for miles on end, nothing but the silence of his company and the clamor of his thoughts.

“Hello Milady,” he greets her, clearing his throat since he hasn’t spoken in a while.

Charlie snorts, settling herself on the grass next to him, gathering her skirts closer to her. “I’m as much not a Lady as I used to be, Cas,” she says, winking at him.

He can’t help but laugh; it’s been an age since he’s spent any time with her or her easy camaraderie. That’s the other thing - out here, with her and her servants, he doesn’t have to worry about being found out. He can be himself, he can be homosexual without apology.

“No, that you never were,” he smiles. “How have you been, Charlie?”

She draws closer, resting her head on his shoulder. “I’m good,” she hums. “Brought a girl back last week from the city to be my Lady’s maid. Claire. Her parents were worried she wasn’t making a suitable match or finding a job, so I offered her one.”

“All while teaching her the pleasures of being single?” Castiel smirks.

Charlie chuckles and then shakes her head. “She’s a bit too young for me,” she says. “More like a little sister than anything else. But if I end up convincing her that it’s okay to go after my housekeeper’s granddaughter, well everyone wins.”

“Missouri’s granddaughter?”

“Kaia,” Charlie tells him. “You haven’t met her, she’s new… Claire’s been eyeing her something fierce since she arrived. I bet my unused corsets she wants her.”

Castiel can’t help the fond laugh that escapes his lips. By the Lord, he’s missed her; it never fails to surprise him just how many of her staff and servants are all homosexual and how she protects each of them so.

“But,” she continues, turning up to glare at him. “Leaving aside the story of my family, want to talk about yours?”

He winces. “What about mine?”

Charlie levels him with a look that’s both hurt and angry. “You went to _Lucifer_ , Cas,” she accuses. “Lucifer. The _Devil_.”

“He’s my brother,” Castiel defends, but his voice sounds weak, even to his own ears.

“He sent you to conversion camp,” she retorts. “You ran to the warfront to get away from him.”

Silence falls, thick and cloying and painful and Castiel can only swallow as the memories assault him. He was barely out of his teens, he remembers, before Lucifer was packing him off to Dr. Joshua because he suspected him to be a homosexual. If not for the doctor’s kindness and the suggestion that he go fight… if not for the First War that saved his life…

It’s a cruel irony indeed, Castiel thinks. “He’s my brother,” he finally says out loud. “I hoped… I thought…”

Charlie sighs. “Cas… I understand,” she murmurs. “As much as it pains me to admit it, he’s family… and you don’t give up on family. But it also does not mean that you should blindly trust the same man who decided you were worth nothing more than your sexual inclinations.”

“I just wanted to… I didn’t think he was going to turn volunteers into experiments, Charlie.”

And that’s the crux of the issue, isn’t it? Castiel reached out to Lucifer with an idea to help people; now, he has the blood of several of them on his hands. All because he was stupid enough to have faith in a brother who never cared for him in the first place.

“It wasn’t your fault,” she comforts him. “We will rescue all of them, I swear it.”

“From Lucifer, certainly. But what of their reputation?”

Because even if they did get Lucifer to admit that he’s performing illegal experiments on them, conversion therapy was a large part of the camp’s work. If that got out, all the volunteers would be ruined.

“Dean said that Lucifer was trying to turn normal people into homosexuals, to discover the cure for homosexuality,” Castiel continues. “No matter the nature of the experiments, no matter whether they actually are homosexual or not, it doesn't… we cannot control how rumors will spread, Charlie. They will be ruined.”

He looks down, clenching his fists. “That is on me.”

“You’re not wrong,” Charlie mutters. “But if it comes to that…” she trails off, staring up at the sky. “If that happens, I will absorb all of them. I will ensure they remain safe and cared for and provide work to all of them.”

Dark hair whips across his forehead as he cranes his head to stare at her. “What?!” he sputters. “Charlie, there are over three hundred men in those camps-”

She smiles and then shrugs. “So?”

He stares at her for a long, disbelieving moment before shaking his head. “Just… how powerful are you?”

She lets out a delighted laugh. “More than you can imagine,” she says seriously. “Which is why I’m annoyed you went to Lucifer instead of me with this.” Despite the mocking tone she takes, there’s a hint of hurt in her voice.

Castiel wraps an around around her shoulders and hugs her gently. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I just… I wanted my brother back. I wasn’t thinking.”

“Clearly,” she snorts. They’re silent for another long moment, before she breaks it with a mischievous smile. “So… _Dean_.”

Castiel stiffens. “What about him?”

“He seems… taken with you.”

“He’s a friend,” Castiel deflects. “He lives a few streets from me.”

“And yet, he came to you on the run and you kept him safe in your home,” she points out. “Seems a bit too far to go for just a friend.”

“You’re doing much the same,” he reminds her. “And we’re friends.”

“Indeed, but Cas, you don’t look at me like you want to devour me,” she tells him in an amused manner. “Nor does he hang on to every word I say, like he does yours.”

“He...does?” Castiel asks, startled. Dean… Dean cherishes him, then? Hie heart leaps to his throat and a wild hope swells in his chest. He squishes it down ruthlessly; Dean may be homosexual, but that does not mean he has feelings for him. That does not mean he cares for him.

Not the way Castiel cares for Dean.

“Are you certain you’re a doctor?” Charlie teases. “If you cannot identify lovesickness?”

“Charlie,” he huffs. “I’m not-”

“I know you, Castiel. Look me in the eye and tell me you’re not in love with Dean Winchester.”

Looking down at her fierce expression, he cannot deny the truth. He _is_ in love with Dean Winchester, he does care for the man so deeply, it hurts his chest sometimes.

That’s what makes this so hard.

Charlie, as always, interprets his silence correctly. “That’s what I thought,” she says triumphantly.

"It does not matter. He does not care for me in that manner."

"And how would you know?" she challenges. "Forgive my saying so, Cas, but you are hardly a connoisseur of emotion. If Mr. Winchester does have feelings for you, I doubt you would be able to tell."

"Let it go, Charlie," Castiel tells her sternly. "It cannot be."

"Why not?"

"It just... can't," he says.

"Cas-"

"I said, let it go."

She makes a frustrated noise. "Stubborn fool," she mumbles under her breath and despite her exasperation,  there's an undercurrent of affection in her tone that makes him smile.

"So you've said before," he says, "Repeatedly."

She rolls her eyes. "Well, if you'd just listen to me every once in a while," she huffs, getting to her feet and smoothing out her skirts. "I will leave you to your melancholic musings then," she mutters. "If you wish the spend the whole night out here, please remember that Inias will be up to to work on the grounds quite early in the morning."

"Yes ma'am," he offers her a small salute. She smiles at him, leaning down to kiss his cheek before making her way back to the mansion.

Castiel leans back against the grass, staring up at the starry brightness of the night sky. It's not that he doesn't want to be with Dean. Even if Dean does have feelings for him... it won't work out. It won't matter - because whatever they have would be hidden, would never be accepted. It's why Castiel has never acted on his urges before now; his reputation would be ruined. As would Dean's.

And if Dean's reputation is ruined... then Sam's future would be ruined.

Castiel doesn't think he can take that kind of risk with the brothers. He doesn't think _Dean_ would take that kind of risk - it's why he won't even entertain that idea.

He doesn't know how long he glares at the sky for it, doesn't know how long his chest remains tight with the tears he refuses to shed before he falls asleep underneath the stars.

*-*-*

"Doc? Wake up, doc. Doc? Cas? Cas!"

Castiel wakes up to the slight shaking and the low, rumbling voice in his ears. He opens his eyes to find wide, familiar green eyes glaring into his own and he jumps back, startled.

"Dean?"

"Heya, doc." A flash of white tells him that Dean's grinning and Castiel grunts, pushing himself to an upright position.

"Did.. what are you doing here?" he asks, rubbing the bridge of his nose and looking around.

"You fell asleep out here. Woke up early 'cause I had to pee. Went lookin' for you and the housekeeper - uh, Miss Missouri - she told me you were here."

"Ah hell," Castiel sighs. He doesn't remember when he fell asleep, but he can see the light ring of gold across the field, over the horizon. It's almost sunrise, but he doesn't want to go back in quite yet.

As though sensing his thoughts, Dean sits down next to him, bumping their shoulders together.

"You alright there, doc?"

"Just thinking," Castiel murmurs, sitting up and drawing his knees to his chest. "It's been a trying few days."

"I'll say," Dean snorts. "I- uh... I'm..." he scratches the back of his neck and Castiel can't help but smile at the sight. Out here, the pale morning light highlights his blush - he's beautiful.

"Thank you," Dean blurts out finally. "I don't think I ever said that, for takin' me in, for bringin' me here, for trustin' me... so, uh... thanks."

"I did not do anything special," Castiel says. "But you're very welcome."

"You did," Dean looks away, so Castiel cannot gauge his expression. There's silence for a long moment and he waits patiently. "It wasn't just the not being a killer thing, you know," he says, his voice quiet. "It was... uh..."

Castiel frowns. "Then what?"

"Alistair and Lucifer picked me for a reason, Cas," Dean says flatly. "Wasn't like they were wrong."

Understanding floods Castiel. His chest tightens and his heart leaps, because he knows this - this self-loathing and exhaustion and trying to convince himself that it isn't wrong, that they aren't wrong.

"You mean your homosexuality?" he says softly.

Dean winces but nods. "Yeah." He clears his throat. "For so long, I've... it ain't somethin' I ever thought about much, y'know? I got Sammy and I never wanted a family of my own... Took me a long time to figure out that it wasn't cause I didn't want someone, just cause I wanted the wrong person."

He turns to Castiel, a rueful smile on his face. "I buried it, deep down. Refused to think about it. Sammy's the only one who knows and he let me be... I thought I was over it." His voice turns darker and he leans in, so close, Castiel can see the flecks of gold in the green of his eyes, despite the watery light.

"Until you came into town," he whispers. "With your rough voice and your blue eyes and you're stupid, intense stare..."

Castiel wants to say something, but he's frozen, the pounding of his blood reverberating in his own head.

"You strolled in, Cas, and I was lost."

Dean cups his cheek, leaning in and Castiel can feel his breath waft across his face.

That's when it hits him - Dean wants him.

Dean _wants_ him.

He jumps back so fast, his head begins to spin. Dean's expression falls and for a moment, the blind panic in Castiel's chest loosens, before the vice grips him again, his brother's voice echoing in his head.

_Unnatural. Evil. Broken._

"Did Charlie put you up to this?" he snarls.

"No," Dean says stiffly. "She did talk to me about being honest with my feelings, but she didn't _give_ me those feelings, Cas."

There's a bitterness to his tone that makes Castiel want to wince, with none of the warmth from before.

"Dean," he mutters, "Dean, I-"

"It's alright, doc," he cuts him off. "I just... I thought... wanted to tell you the truth... guess she was mistaken about the nature of your feelings for me, huh?" He lets out a small laugh that sounds closer to a sob than anything else. "It's alright... I'll uh-" he gestures vaguely around, as though about to get to his feet.

"No!"

Castiel lunges forward and pulls him close, rolling over so that they're both on the ground, Dean staring up incredulously at him.

"No, Dean, I-uh..." he fumbles, and Lord, _why_ is this so hard?

"The hell, doc?" Dean growls. "You're either in love with me or you aren't but stop stringin' me along like this!"

"I am."

Castiel is as surprised by the words that come out of his mouth as Dean is. But once he's admitted them out loud, he finds that he doesn't really want to take them back.

"I am, Dean," he admits, more softly. "I just..."

Dean squints, confused. "Then what?" he demands.

"How... this can't ever work, Dean," he whispers, gesturing between them. "I cannot hold your hand in public, I cannot claim you as mine for the world, I cannot wear a ring in your name... how can this be right?"

Dean's breath hitches. "You... you wanna wear a ring? For me?"

Castiel frowns. "I just said that I cannot. Not in public, at least."

"But if you could..." Rough fingers, calloused from the years of manual labor reach up to swipe across Castiel's cheek, and this time, he leans into it, "...would you?"

"I want to," Castiel confesses. "I would."

Dean's expression becomes fierce and he leans up, grabbing Castiel's face with both hands. This time, he doesn't hesitate, pressing their lips together, burying his hands in Castiel's hair, pressing them close together, a low groan rumbling in his throat.

"Cas," he murmurs, "Cas, you utter sap."

"I just... it's wrong," Castiel whispers helplessly against his mouth, when they break apart. "Everyone says it is."

Dean rolls them over so quickly, Castiel's back hits the grass with as loud thud. He looms over the doctor, eyes dark, expression predatory, his golden hair highlighted by the rising sun. He looks like some avenging angel and it makes Castiel's heart ache to see it.

"How," Dean's nose brushes against his own, "Can something," he breathes across Castiel's eyelashes and Castiel closes them,"So good," he kisses eyach of Castiel's eyes gently, "Be wrong?" His lips are chafed and rough, but he tastes of coffee and really, Castiel doesn't really care anymore, because he's right, because this feels so right, being in his arms, out here, in the open like this.

When they pull back, Dean rests his forehead across Castiel's clavicle and the doctor is almost startled to realize that the younger man is shaking.

"Cas," he murmurs, "You... you want this? Want me?"

"Oh Dean," Castiel sighs. "I've wanted you longer than I remember. He hesitates for exactly a second before saying determinedly, "I love you."

The sun is still missing from the sky, but Dean's smile is ten times brighter as it shines out of his face, beautiful and golden and lovely.

"I love you too."


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

The sounds of running down the corridor distract Castiel from the reports he's been working on for the past few hours. They aren't many in number, just the few that he had stashed into the medical bag he and Dean grabbed on their way out from his house, but they were enough to keep his mind occupied while hiding out here. Much as he cares for Dean, Charlie and the house staff, he also knows how much he needs work of his own to keep him busy, so he's been drowning himself in the reports of the physicals that have been collected from The Program.

If he's looking for some way to exonerate Dean of his killer status, well that's just his own project and no one needs to know about it. He needs to know what his brother has done, needs to understand it - which is why he's been burying himself in them, looking for any hint of all the dark things Dean told them were happening there, so that he can fix it.

"Doc? Doc! Cas!"

Jumping up, Castiel yanks the door open. Dean falls in, grabbing him and squeezing him fiercely.

"Miss Charlie says it's time," he murmurs. "Your brother is on his way here."

"To arrest you." Castiel swallows hard. "And to take me back. Probably throw me into conversion therapy again."

Dean's grip tightens. He leans in to press a brief, hard kiss to the corner of Castiel's mouth and shakes his head as he pulls back. "We won't let him. He is the Devil, Cas. And the Devil belongs in hell. That's where we're throwin' his ass."

"What if the plan does not work?"

"It has to," Dean insists. "Miss Charlie did her part, by calling him and pretending to be a dame in distress." He pauses, "She's really quite the actress. Told him she'd pretend to hide us and keep us here while he brought the police officers." He leans in to kiss Castiel again. "We gotta do our part now, get him to confess the truth."

"It's not without risk, Dean," Castiel murmurs. "For all that the officers know, you're a killer. If Lucifer does not confess, you will still go to jail."

"Charlie's managed to get officers who are not in Lucifer's pocket on the case, Cas," Dean tells him. "This will work. It has to."

"It's dangerous," Castiel warns. He's been against this plan since it's conception, but right here, right now, it all seems so much worse.

He could lose Dean. Forever. Because Castiel has no doubt that Lucifer has no plans to let Castiel interact with Dean ever again. He will be watched, monitored and kept in the family estate 'for his own good'.

And Dean... he will die in prison. Sam will never get to go to University.

He's terrified.

Which is why he leans in and holds Dean for a long, tight moment, breathing in the scent of him, taking it all in, one last time.

"Our lives are dangerous," Dean reminds him. "But Cas... it's worth it. You are worth it." He pulls back the slightest bit, cups Castiel's face and rests his forehead against his. "Do you trust me?" he breathes against his mouth.

Castiel leans in and kisses him softly. Instead of answering, he pulls away and walks back to his desk, yanking out the drawer. The small, pearl-crusted pistol sits innocently on a stack of papers and he picks it up gingerly, before whirling back to hand it to Dean.

"It was never a question of trust, Dean," he says. "But promise me... we will both return to my house tonight. Together. And we will both go to see Sam tomorrow."

Dean takes the pistol and tucks it into the back of his pants with an ease that comes of practice. Castiel wants to ask him where he learnt how to use it, how to fight, but that will have to wait for later - and they _will_ have a later, he promises himself.

"Promise me," he repeats.

Dean kisses him again, soft and sweet. It's not a promise he can make honestly, they both know that, but he does it anyway, because that's what Dean does.

"I promise."

*-*-*

Lucifer ended up bringing four instead of the two police officers they expected, which meant that two of them were Lucifer's goons, while the other two - Officer Henrikson, surprisingly enough, and Officer Garth, both of whom were Dean's friends - were on the side of the law. Which meant that when Castiel confronted him, and got Lucifer to admit inadvertently that not everything in the camp was legal, there were two men extra to subdue, but two officers to swear to their side of the story as well, which worked out quite well for them at the end.

Later, Castiel would think that he's relieved. Later, Castiel would crawl into bed next to Dean in the guestroom Charlie has provided, insistent that they both recover together before going to see Sam. Later, in the dark, he would admit to just how much his brother's atrocities have hurt him, and later, Dean would hug him close and kiss his forehead and tell him he loves him.

But that's later.

Right now, staring into Lucifer's eyes, even as he's held at gunpoint by the man he loves, all Castiel can think is that he's failed.

He's failed to see the madness in his brother, failed to protect the three hundred and thirty men who signed up for The Program, failed to protect Dean and Sam, both of whom were just trying to eke out a living for themselves. He's failed - as a doctor, as a brother, as a _lover_...

"Let him go," Lucifer commands.

Dean's grip tightens a around Castiel, but a small squeeze to his thigh reassures him.

"Dean," officer Henrikson speaks up. "Come on, this isn't you. You're not a killer, brother. Whatever happened in that camp-"

"Yeah, Luci," Dean snarls, cutting him off,. "Tell them _exactly_ what happened in that camp."

"Volunteer run experiments," Lucifer snaps. "What you signed up for. But you, Dean," he shakes his head, clucking his tongue, "You turned out to be a murderer. If you couldn't stand the experiments, all you had to do was opt out, not kill Alistair. You're deranged and you need to be locked up - for your own good."

"Like _I_ needed to be locked up?" Castiel mutters, "For my own good?"

Four pairs of eyes swing across the room to glare at him and Castiel swallows at the attention. Lucifer's expression hardens when realizes what Castiel is about to reveal.

"I was in my teen years," Castiel continues, "Studying to be a doctor. I wanted to help people. And I just fell in lo-"

"Into bad company!" Lucifer yells. "You fell into bad company, Castiel, and it was my duty to protect you. As your elder brother."

"The same way you're protecting the volunteers at camp?" Castiel demands, angry. He can be locked up, caged and watched at all times, but news of his homosexuality can never get out because it would ruin his family.

Castiel has never cared for his own reputation, but his family must always come first.

He's _done_ with that.

"They all knew what they signed up for!"

"No, we didn't!" Dean roars back. "I didn't ask to be used like a lab rat, Lucifer! I signed up to be trained to go to war if we needed it again, I signed up to learn to fight, to make my body stronger, to be the superhero my country needs me to be - not to be your personal little toy, to find the cure to things you think are evil!"

"Is that why you killed Alistair?" Lucifer says softly. "To prove that you're better than all of us? That you're the superhero you wanted to be? Did you believe you were liberating all the volunteers, Dean?"

"I didn't kill Alistair," Dean says. "He died at his own hand. Bastard got what was coming to him."

"He was my friend!" Lucifer roars. "He did what he was asked to do! Do you know how hard it is to find good help-"

"...so you're saying that you were his boss?" Castiel interrupts. "If he took his orders from you, you were responsible for everything he did?"

"Yes," Lucifer snaps, frustrated, "Castiel, there is no point to all this. We have to get you away from this madman - Garth, Henrikson, Azazel, Roman, get Winchester."

"The thing is, Lucifer," Castiel steps away from Dean and Dean lets him go without any resistance. "Dean isn't the madman. You are."

"Castiel-!"

Henrikson and Garth both gasp, their guns wavering, but Azazel and Roman keep their weapons trained on Dean, who throws his hands up in defeat.

"I am a doctor, brother," he reminds him. "Did you really think I would not keep track of the records? Of all the tests you ordered? Of the many blood samples that vanished? Of the many blood samples you ordered for that weren't on the official list?"

Castiel's heart thunders; this is the dangerous part, the part where they won't know if Lucifer will call his bluff or not.

"Did you think I wouldn't tack them down? Or find out the truth? I have the records, brother... every single page of Alistair's twisted research."

He doesn't have them, of course, but Lucifer doesn’t know that. For all he knew, Dean could have grabbed those papers when he ran out of the camp.

"Dean gave them to," he says, "I went through them.. one by one. Each and every patient you tortured, every patient you used as a like an animal. That wasn't what they volunteered for, _brother_." He spits out the last word.

Silence falls. For a long moment, Castiel thinks Lucifer is going to bow out, is going to call his bluff and get both of them arrested, he's going to lose Dean, he can't, he-

Lucifer laughs.

It's an ugly sound, ripping through the air like any bullet from any of the guns would. Castiel stares at him, as do Garth and Henrikson, their eyes widening with amazement.

"So you know," Lucifer chortles. "And here I thought I was doing it all for you... to help you. And the unnaturalness in you."

The shocked gasps from the two officers is all Castiel gets before the sound of a gunshot splits through the air. He whirls around to see Dean on the ground, groaning, clutching at his leg, and Azazel standing over him, a triumphant grin on his face.

"Killers get what they deserve, Winchester," he sneers.

And all hell breaks loose.

Castiel loses track of everything, his heart seizing in his chest at the sight of Dean bellding on the floor. It's a non-lethal injury, as far as he can tell, but Dean is bleeding, and Lucifer is standing over him, and is that Garth tackling Azazel to get a grab at his gun?

Instinct kicks in, honed by years of experience at the front lines, and Castiel is moving on autopilot, his arm spinning out to hit Lucifer, even as he brings his brother down with him, tussling on the ground. Behind him, he's vaguely aware of Dean grunting and then swiping a kick at Roman, who also goes down with a thud, but this is Lucifer, the man who taught how to fight, and he's pushing, grabbing and kicking at Castiel, as though they've never been brothers, as though none of it matters anymore -

The second gunshot that rings through the air has all of them freezing, staring up at the angry redhead, who's holding the pearl-crusted pistol Dean dropped when he went down.

"Lucifer," Charlie says, her voice tight and ominous, "Get the hell up and put your hands behind your back." She turns to Henrikson and Garth, who are both still wrestling with the two men loyal to his brother. "If you two don't want to get yourselves thrown off of the police force - and trust me, I can make that happen - I suggest you arrest him. And these two morons," she kicks Azazel, "Because they're clearly workin' for him. And You will testify to everything you saw today, so that we can get the The Program investigated and Dean cleared. Is that understood?"

"And who do you think you are?" Lucifer barks, "No _woman_ is going to tell me what do-"

Charlie kicks him in the shin and he yelps.

"This woman just _did_ ," she snarls, "And this woman can get you locked up for life, so shut your trap and get on with it."

Lucifer glares up at her, opens his mouth to protest, but Charlie kicks him again.

Castiel ignores all of them, crawling over to where Dean lies, leg bleeding, expression contorted into one of pain.

Green eyes scrunch up at Castiel, pained but affectionate, and despite the crowd, Castiel allows his hand to brush against Dean's offering him a quick smile.

"Well," Dean sighs "At least no one died?"

The laugh that escapes Castiel's lips is halfway between a laugh and a sob, but he doesn't care as he bends down to tend to Dean's wound.

It's over.


	6. Chapter 6

**Epilogue**

When Castiel lets himself into their room, Dean is fast asleep on the bed, curled up in the middle, underneath the blankets. It’s been a while since Castiel visited and he’s been looking forward to their four-day weekend all month, but Dean looks so beautiful in his sleep, he decides not to wake him. Instead, he drops his medical bag at the edge of the bed and throws off his shirt and his pants, crawling into bed next to him.

He should’ve known, of course, that Dean would never do what he expects. One green eye cracks open and a loud yawn breaks through plush, pink lips, even as Dean rolls over to throw his arms over Castiel, trapping him beneath himself.  

“Long time no see,” he murmurs.

“Hello,” Castiel hums. “I see Charlie’s working you through the bone.”

Dean sighs. “Lady needs a bodyguard,” he says, nosing at Castiel’s neck. “And a driver who knows his cars.”

“There’s no one better.”

Castiel runs his hands through Dean’s hair, pulling his closer. The weight of the younger man presses down on him, but he doesn’t mind; he’s missed this, missed the sweet intimacy of his lover, missed the warmth of his touch. Dean may have his own safe, closeted space in Charlie’s mansion, but Castiel still has to maintain appearances outside, for the world. They don’t get to spend nearly as much time together as they’d like.

Which is why he’s surprised that Dean pulls back a moment later. There’s an expression of shy consternation on his face, one that is both beautiful and terrifying, and Castiel opens his mouth to ask when Dean leans over to the bedstand to open the drawer.

“Dean?”

“You once told me,” Dean whispers, “that you wanted to wear my ring.” he pulls out a small box, one that looks all too familiar - one that Castiel didn’t think he’d ever get. “I uh… I know you can’t wear it publicly. But I got a chain for it.”

He pops it open, and Castiel can see the golden chain looped around the simple, metallic band, and his heart is racing and his palms are clammy with sweat, and he doesn’t know how long they can keep this up, this charade of the doctor making house calls to the Lady Charlie once a month for a faux illness, but there’s only one answer he can and will give -

“Yes,” he whispers. “Always.”

**-end-**

**Author's Note:**

> And that's a wrap, let us know how we did! PS - For anyone waiting on updates on my other fics, fic-ing has taken a bit of a back-burner right now, since real life has reared its head, but I've not given up on anything and will return eventually. Thanks for waiting and reading! <3


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